I'm a writer of erotic fiction, mostly of a paranormal/fantasy bent. Welcome to my Blog! I aim to post at least every 2 days. Adults only please ... you know the drill. All commenters welcome. All text copyright Janine Ashbless unless otherwise stated.

Thursday, 26 April 2007

‘Taste it,’ he ordered, showing his teeth. ‘Taste it and tell me you’re not ready for me.’ He touched my lips. I licked my own sharp juices from his fingers, reluctantly at first, then thoroughly. My cheeks were aflame with shame. ‘I think that’s the answer I’ve been waiting for.’ Still watching me with that appraising glint, Michael removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. Then he sat down on the sofa, at the far end from Jenny, and patted his thigh. ‘Come on,’ he said softly.

Eyes downcast I came to him and sat in his lap. Every step was a surrender. I knew he could feel my trembling, the last vestiges of my inner struggle. He traced his fingers across the silk on my back and bum. His legs were hard slabs of muscle beneath mine. He kissed my cheek but when I turned my mouth to his, my lips already parted and yearning, he withheld his kiss, his smile lazily triumphant.

My dressing gown wouldn’t stay together over my bare legs.

Without fuss and without force he took my wrists round to the small of my back and held them there, crossed over. He only used one of his hands to pin me, and I could have broken the grip easily, but the very fact that he had to put so little physical effort into mastering me was a glaring demonstration of my submission. The posture thrust my breasts out a little. With his free hand Michael played with the open edge of my garment, the line where silk and skin met. Then he glanced over at Jenny. Uncoiling from her perch on the far arm, she came down the sofa toward us. I could see know that her slick, plastic-looking dress was made of pond-weed, the kind that lies in sheets under the surface. With her nails she slit it down the front and discarded it, revealing a palely green body beneath, slight except for the swell of her rounded breasts. Her nipples were large and, like her nails, black; they seem to stare at me. I looked away, unable to meet their unblinking gaze.

‘You’re mine,’ said Michael in my ear. ‘I’m going to let her play with you, because that’s my pleasure, but you belong to me. Your body knows that already, doesn’t it?’

I whimpered under my breath. I had no idea whether he was staking his claim or simply enjoying the game, but he was right about my body; it was wholehearted in its treacherous collaboration. As Michael drew back one side of my gown to expose my right breast my nipple stood proud to meet him, not so large or dark as Jenny’s but hard anyway, a sweet brown nut.‘Well. Somebody’s feeling … perky.’ He took it between thumb and finger, twisting it gently, enough to make me quiver. ‘I get so carried away in admiring your arse, Avril, that I forget how much you love having your juicy little tits touched. You’d do almost anything to have me do this.’ He pinched me softly and I cried out in pleasure and humiliation, causing him to smile. ‘Oh, that’s good, is it?’

‘Yes,’ I said in the smallest of voices.

‘You want more?’ He used his nails on my skin and I heaved against him. He kept playing as Jenny crawled up over me, and he traced the whorls of my ear with his tongue, his breath hot. His touch was nearly enough to distract me from her green, inhuman eyes. She made a low, musical, almost birdlike sound in her throat as she leaned in to kiss me. Then Michael withdrew the tip of his tongue from my ear and turned to her. ‘No,’ he said in a voice like lead.

A sneer flickered over Jenny’s face, but she lowered her head obediently to my breasts. She stroked one hand down my breastbone, easing the other panel of silk aside, tugging the knot of the belt loose so that I was bared all the way down to my pubic triangle. Then she returned her attention to my breasts, stroking the sensitive inner surfaces until I shut my eyes, my skin singing. Her fingers were cold. Her mouth was too, inside and out, as it closed around my left nipple. I gasped out loud.

‘Oh yes,’ said Michael. ‘You are particularly sensitive there, aren’t you?’ His own excitement was more than evident, pushing up against me through his trousers. ‘Isn’t she good?’

She was incredible. Her tongue was cold, and she used it to stir my nerve-endings to tingling frenzy. She licked and she lapped and she suckled and she nibbled. I looked down at her only once and saw that there was sand in her hair, a fine drift of golden mica glittering in the natural parting lines. Then I had to shut my eyes gain as the tide of sensation dragged me under and I gave way to the tormenting pleasure of her lips, arching my back to push more of my breasts into her delicious mouth. Michael abandoned that territory to his ally and slipped his hand between my thighs instead. I writhed and let my legs part, unresisting as he explored me thoroughly.

From the other side Jenny’s slim hand joined his between my thighs, slipping inside me. His hand was warm, hers was not; the contrast of sensations nearly turned me inside out. His imprisoned erection ground up against me. His other hand tightened on my wrists until the fingers bit into my flesh.

‘You’re so turned on you’re about to come,’ he whispered. ‘I haven’t even got my cock in you, and you’re coming already.’

Thursday, 12 April 2007

Yes, it's "300" the movie - Proof that there is a god. A god of gay military porn possibly, but certainly a deity of some description.

There are twenty things wrong with this film. It's borderline racist. It's quasi-fascist (but not in a Nazi way). It equates physical beauty with moral perfection. David Wenham does a really weird Long John Silver accent. It's not violent enough (Seriously!). The Leonidas/Gorgo sex scene should have been ooh, about ten minutes longer. Worst of all, unlike "Gates of Fire" the novel, which is deeply moving in its depiction of men facing certain death with the utmost courage - and it's only moving and only courage because they like all people do fear death - in 300 the Spartans are having such a good time getting themselves killed that it doesn't seem tragic or even much like sacrifice.

"Veraine was a commander in the Imperial army and Myrna was the high priestess her stole away from her temple. As they attempt to make a new life together they are attacked by reivers: Myrna is taken to be a slave of the evil Tiger Lords, while Veraine is beaten and left for dead. Piecing together fragments of memory, Veraine begins to search for his lost love, but there are many erotic temptations on his way, while life with the Tiger Lords is so brutal and short he may not arrive in time…

Black Lace is branching out heavily into paranormal erotica this year, attempting to emulate the success of authors such as Laurell K. Hamilton and Sherrilyn Kenyon (but with better writing standards…), so expect lots of novels involving vampires, shape-shifters and general spookiness. If they’re all up to the standard of Burning Bright then it’s a gamble which should pay off. There’s an art to making you believe in characters who are part-human, part-animal and Ashbless clearly possesses it. Personally I don’t particularly like lots of death and dollops of gore with my erotica, but the fight scenes are carried off well, and the Eastern tinges of mysticism which are woven into the plot and the characters’ belief systems hold everything together nicely. And the sex never takes second place to the plot twists, which is always the danger with this type of erotica genre.

Careful, this one burns…"

However, my real favourite is from the journal of the Erotic Trade Organisation:

"Practically snuff"

I laughed till I fell off my chair…

xxxJanine Ashbless

For the brave, I’ve put a couple of pages of new notes on Burning Bright at www.janineashbless.com. Read the book first.

The Book of the Watchers 3: The Prison of the Angels

Fierce Enchantments - re-released!

Named and Shamed - re-released!

About Me

Erotic fiction writing: it's not as wild and glamorous as you think. I spend a lot of time trying to keep my semicolons under control; I love the little beggars, but no one else does. I also worry about hyphenation - Blow-job? Blow job? Blowjob? - and am addicted to Spider Solitaire.

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Work in Progress

I've started on a 4-part serial of erotic/magical novellas, Lovers' Wheel. Summer Seduction and Falling Deep have both been published by Ellora's Cave. The two sequels will be called When Winter Comes and Joys of Spring.

The last of the fallen angel trilogy that started with Cover Him with Darkness, and In Bonds of the Earth, is soon to be published by Sinful Press. This third volume in the Book of the Watchers trilogy will be called The Prison of the Angels.